


Lover, Be Good To Me

by owiak



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Anxiety, Body Worship, Consensual Sex, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hozier Is Awkward, Hozier Likes To Stare, It Gets Smuttier Eventually, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loneliness, Observant Hozier, Romance, Roommates Are The Worst/Best, Rough Sex, Spot the References to Hozier Songs, Sweet Teeth Rotting Things All Men Should Do, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29387400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owiak/pseuds/owiak
Summary: Andrew goes through the motions of life just like everyone else, a little depressed, a little anxious and just looking for someone who can fill the empty spaces. He hadn't expected to find that someone in a London coffee shop and he definitely hadn't expected that person to be as sweet and kind as her.Two people getting to know each other, opening old wounds and falling in love.---Updates every weekend.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not know Hozier and I mean him no disrespect by writing fanfiction about him. All his music and lyric are his intellectual property.

His fingers strummed the chords as he softly sang the words. The cold air made them red and achy with every movement. He’d been busking on this street for weeks, there was no competition and the police were less likely to harass him here. There weren’t many businesses on this stretch of road, mostly flats and back doors to shops but a decent amount of foot traffic passed through each day. 

On nicer days he’d attract small groups of people with his singing, earn a few pounds, and swagger back to the flat he shared with friends. But the winter had come harshly, no one wanted to stand around watching another wannabe attempt to stand out. Although, the winter hadn’t been too cruel to him. 

On a particularly cold night two weeks ago he stumbled into a small cafe across the street to warm up and though he hadn’t noticed they were closing up for the night, the girl at the register made him a hot cup of tea for no charge and let him sit until she had finished cleaning. He had noticed her several times before, walking into the shop but he never got a good look at her until that night.

She was a tiny thing, although to him everyone was tiny as he stood at six and a half feet. If he had to guess, she was at least five foot three. But it wasn’t her height that caught his attention or her short, wavy, honey-brown hair or the birthmarks on her face or her light beige skin. It was her eyes. The shop girl had kind eyes that bore into a dark recess of his soul. A bluish-gray, like clouds from the kind of storm that comes steadily and breaks for sunshine.

He thought about her eyes every night after that and as he continued to sing. He thought of her sweet smile the night he went into the cafe and the way he hesitated and stuttered when he asked if he could stay a few minutes. He thought of her gentle hands as she placed the cup of unasked for tea in front of him and the way her lips formed the words “on the house”.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been completely enraptured by her in a matter of seconds, too embarrassed to admit he had never gotten her name and was too shy to go back afterward to ask her for it. As he finished strumming the last few chords he looked around at the empty street covered in a dusting of snow. He had considered for weeks moving on to better territory but, to do so would mean losing out on the chance at seeing the shop girl every day.

He set his guitar down in the case and collected the money he had earned, shoving it into his coat pocket. As he stood and picked up the case he noticed someone walking towards him. It was her, his shop girl with two lidded paper cups in hand.

“Hi.” She said, the warmth of her breath creating swirls of clouds.

“Uh, hi.” He replied hesitantly. 

“I thought you could use a nice hot cup of tea. It’s pretty cold tonight.” She said, holding out one of the cups. He grabbed it with his free hand and felt the warmth of her fingers as they relinquished the cup into his frozen ones.

“I haven’t even paid you back for the other one yet.” He said with a sheepish smile.

“It’s hot water and some dried up leaves.” She laughed and he smiled with her, biting his lip.

“Are, uh, are you off for the night then?” He asked nodding at the cafe whose lights had been shut off. She nodded.

“Yeah, too cold for people to come out. They’d actually rather have to make their own coffee and tea than face some snow.” She said.

“Can I walk you somewhere? Pay off my debt? Act like a human shield from the wind? Scare off the night stalkers.” He asked, his comment made her laugh and he swore the sound she made was divine in origin.

“Sure. I live about fifteen minutes from here.” She said as she took a sip from her cup and began to walk away from him. He quickly set his own cup down on the ground to slip his arms into the straps of his guitar case; reclaiming his cup and lightly jogging to catch up with her. They walked silently for the first few minutes, both sipping from their cups and staring at the ground.

“Have you lived in London long?” She finally broke the silence. He looked over at her.

“Uhm, no, just about five months or so. How’d you know?” He asked.

“Hard to miss your Irish brogue.” She mocked, trying to mimic him. He laughed.

“How long have you been here? I hear some Scottish in your mockery.” He teased, she smiled through pursed lips.

“Too long.” She smiled weakly.

“What part of Ireland?” She asked quickly.

“Born in Bray. Uni in Dublin before I decided busking was my true calling.” He said sarcastically and she laughed with him.

“And you?” He questioned.

“Glasgow.” She stated. He nodded affirmatively.

“Yeah, yeah. No, I hear that now.” He teased.

“Yeah? You can hear the Glasgow in my voice?”

“Oh absolutely.” He joked. “It’s all in your o’s.” She smiled wide and rolled her eyes at him.

“So, how long is ‘too long’ in London?” He questioned. She sighed loudly trying to recall.

“Threeish years.” She finally answered unsure of her own reply.

“You’ll have to show me around some time… and I can buy us both tea.” He suggested. She smiled gently and her pale skin flushed a bit.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She said. His heart skipped a beat and his embarrassment grew as he once again remembered he hadn’t gotten her name. She stopped in front of a three-story brick building and pulled out her keys.

“Thank you for walking me home.” She said.

“I feel like such an ass. I forgot to ask your name.” He admitted. She giggled and turned away from him to open the door.

“Goodnight.” She said as she walked inside. He watched her disappear behind the closed door, her smile and laugh resonating like church bells in his head. He began to walk back the way he came when he heard a door creak open. When he turned back, she was leaning halfway out.

“It’s Ramona.” She said.

“I’m Andrew.” He said back to her.

“Goodnight Andrew.” She said.

“Goodnight Ramona.” He replied and she retreated back into the building.


	2. Chapter Two

Andrew woke the next day feeling better than he had in weeks. Sometimes the world crept up and overwhelmed him; doubt would fill his thoughts and he’d drag himself through the days. That’s why he left Ireland, to see if maybe the suffocating feeling would subside and all the voices in his head telling him he wasn’t good enough would go away. They didn’t.

But this day felt new, it felt hopeful. He had gotten the shop girl's name and promised her tea and while he wasn’t getting anywhere with his music, at least he had some progress in his personal life. And by personal life, he meant he spoke to a person that wasn’t either of his flatmates or his parents or his brother.

He decided to play on the main road today. It wasn’t as cold and being a Saturday, there was bound to be more people out shopping for the holidays. He was sure to make some extra cash even though he knew there would be other performers out trying to make their mark. However, he had promised Ramona a cup of tea and was in need of money to pay for it.

He played there all day, sang a little louder than usual, played his guitar more intensely, and by the end of the day, he made enough for a nice lunch date. He came again on Sunday and for the next three days. Sure, he was losing out on seeing her each day but his portion of the rent was almost due and a few days earning good money on the main road meant he could spend several slow days playing outside the cafe.

On Wednesday he walked into the cafe during normal business hours and her face lit up when she saw him. They awkwardly smiled at each other as he approached the counter.

“Hi.” He started.

“Hello.” She smiled.

“So, ehm, I ehm, I wanted, uh…” Why was this so hard suddenly? He had no trouble talking to her the other night and now he was struggling to find his words and courage. Was it how cute she looked in her black work apron? Was it her gender ambiguous coworkers' non-discrete attempt at spying on them from behind an espresso machine that was choking him up? Was it the crowd of patrons? He’d never been in the cafe while it was open.

“Andrew?” She asked concerned, reaching out across the counter to grab the hand he used to steady himself. The light touch of her fingers grazing his hand brought him back to reality and when he looked at her it was like he was seeing her for the first time.

“I just… wanted to know what day you’re free. I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch?” He asked with a newfound confidence that caught even himself off guard. Their eyes never disconnected but he could see her cheeks rise from a smile.

“I’m off on Friday.” She said. He smiled back at her.

“I’ll come by at noon then.” He said.

“Come by your place I mean.” He added quickly.

“Not here. Obviously, you won’t be here. I’ll come by your place at noon… On Friday.” He fumbled, his facial expression showing his confusion at his own words. But her giggles and nodding indicated that she understood his rambling.

“Friday?” He confirmed again as he backed away from the counter, bumping into a man behind him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He fumbled and tried to steady himself and the man. Andrew looked back at her and her grin was wide.

“Friday.” She nodded at him and he smiled.

“Ehm, Bye.” He said quickly, moving around the man he bumped into and exiting the shop.

Andrew walked back to his flat in embarrassment. She couldn’t stop giggling at him, was she laughing at him because she thought he was hopeless or endearing? He made an ass of himself, that was all he knew. He opened the door to the flat, threw his coat on the back of a chair, kicked off his wet boots, and beelined for his room.

“How’d it go?” Noel asked from the bedroom door as Andrew threw himself face-first into his mattress and let out a groan.

Noel and Andrew had known each other since primary, he was practically family and knew better than anyone how terrible he was at talking to women he really liked.

“How is it you are able to sing like an angel, write like a poet… but you can’t ask a shop-girl out?” Noel inquired.

“Hey, no…” Andrew started as he sat up.

“I did ask her out, she said yes. We’re getting lunch on Friday… I just… I sounded like an idiot. I was rambling.” He explained.

“You have a date with the shop girl?” He heard a voice shuffle from down the hall and sure enough Noel’s girlfriend Deanna poked her head in, black hair pulled into curlers. 

“What are you going to wear? Noel, you should let him borrow one of your white button-ups.” Deanna insisted, slapping her boyfriend in the side with the back of her hand.

“What’s wrong with his clothes?” Noel asked confused. Deanna looked at him like he was the dumbest creature on the planet.

“Sweetheart really? Do you want him to look homeless on his first date?” Noel scoffed in disbelief at her comment.

“You think I look homeless!?” Andrew almost shouted.

“Listen,” Deanna started.

“It’s not so much homeless… you just look frumpy.” She explained.

“You’re the one with holes and rips in your jeans.” Andrew pointed out.

“Yes, but this is the fashion!” Deanna exclaimed as she gestured at her pants.

“Homeless chic?” Noel laughed, leaning against the door frame.

“Ugh, men will never get it.” She said as she pushed past her boyfriend and retreated back down the hall. Andrew and Noel looked at each other confused.

“Right, I’m going to let you wallow in misery. I’m heading out for pizza, you want something?” He asked. Andrew shook his head and threw himself back into his mattress. Noel was just getting ready to close the bedroom door when Andrew sat back up with an urgent look on his face.

“Yeah?” Noel asked.

“Shirt?” Andrew questioned.

“Probably for the best. Just go in my closet.” Noel confirmed as he headed down the hall for the front door. Andrew went straight for his friend's closet and pulled out a crisp white button-up.

“And a pepperoni pizza!” Andrew shouted out.

“Too late, now you starve!” Noel shouted back slamming the door to the flat behind him.


	3. Chapter Three

Thursday whirled by without a second thought, but sometime during the night, Andrew began pacing the flat while rambling to Deanna about his anxiety. He hadn’t been on a date in some time and was admittedly very awkward and uncomfortable in crowds, let alone in a crowd with a girl he liked. Deanna repeatedly reminded him that breathing was important to human survival and that he should practice it more.

She gave him tips, things to ask Ramona, things that seemed absolutely trivial to him while she ironed Noel’s shirt for him. She reminded him to trim his beard and suggested putting his insane mess of hair up in a “man-bun”. She then asked if he had cologne to which Andrew responded that he had soap and with that Deanna walked away from him and went to bed claiming she had done all that she could.

Friday morning, he showered, washed his hair, trimmed his beard, and practiced breathing. Before leaving for work Deanna grabbed one of her hair ties and pulled Andrew’s hair up into a bun which he actually thought looked good to his own surprise. At eleven he dressed and while his jeans had a few minor holes and his boots had gone to hell and back, Noel’s crisp clean white shirt made him look put together.

By eleven fifteen he had grabbed his coat and left the flat to make the walk to Ramona’s. It wasn’t until he arrived at her place at eleven forty-eight that he realized he had no idea what flat she lived in and didn’t have her phone number to let her know he was there. He cursed at himself for not thinking things through. Thankfully, no more than seven minutes later she came out the front door.

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw her and she smiled back at him and said hello. She wore a dark green wool coat, tight black pants that may have actually been leggings, and brown boots not too dissimilar from his black ones.

“So where are we off to?” She asked and he froze at her question. Shit. He hadn’t thought of a place to take her but he blurted at the first thing that came to his mind.

“Do you like breakfast?” He asked and he instantly regretted it.

“I think it’s the most underrated meal of the day.” She responded but her face gave no indication of seriousness or joking.

“Ehm… are you? So are you okay with breakfast?” He asked, confused and she just gave him a laugh and nodded.

“I’m sorry. I admittedly am not at all prepared. I was terrified about looking presentable.” He confessed.

“Breakfast is fine Andrew, really. I mean it when I say it’s underrated.” She assured him with a smile. He let out a sigh of relief and smiled back.

“Well then, I know a place that makes amazing pancakes.” He said excitedly and he held out his arm in a gentlemanly fashion for her. 

She hooked her arm with his and he led the way. It was a good thing he had because he learned rather quickly that she was an incredibly clumsy person, slipping several times on ice that seemed to exist nowhere except exactly under her feet. The experience left them both red in the face with laughter as she clung to him wary of every step she took.

In the restaurant he helped her out of her coat and offered her the first choice of a seat at the table, she picked the booth and he took the single chair across from her. She wore a yellow knit jumper but not an ugly yellow he thought, a sunflower yellow. And her jumper wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, he thought it made her look sweet, like sunshine.

“You look nice. What was the concern?” She questioned as he tugged on the cuffs of Noel’s shirt, which turned out to be just a tad too short on his long body and he laughed.

“My flatmate's girlfriend was worried I’d look homeless.” He admitted. Ramona’s jaw dropped as she tried to stifle a laugh.

“Does she think you look homeless?” She asked.

“Absolutely. In fact, she thought you only gave me that free cup of tea because you thought I was homeless… You ehm… you didn’t think I was homeless did you?” He suddenly got very nervous.

“Not at all!” She laughed.

“Just thought you looked cold.” She said sweetly.

“Oh well, that’s a relief.” He chuckled.

She teased him when he ordered an omelet with sausages and toast instead of pancakes, insisting that he couldn’t tell her he knew of a place that made ‘amazing pancakes' and not order them himself when they got there. She did get pancakes topped in powdered sugar, blueberries, strawberries, and bananas and proceeded to drizzle on a copious amount of syrup. 

He wondered if her mouth tasted as sweet as all the sugar that was passing her lips and immediately shut down the thought. They talked for a bit about themselves and laughed over the struggles of moving to London. She had been in the city for three years since she was twenty citing a need for change; a fresh start.

And then his least favorite part about meeting women came up. The part where the new woman asks about the previous woman. He admitted it had been almost a year since his last serious relationship, he met his ex while at uni, they had been together for two years and she didn’t like the idea of him dropping out. She felt he had no  **_real_ ** goals and thought he needed a proper job and proper education.

“Was she expecting you to put on a suit and march your way to work on the tube every day with millions of humans dragging their feet through life?” Ramona asked in response.

“Yeah, a bit. She had really high standards and I only met like… no, no I never met any of them.” He laughed.

“And you? What happened, did he run away or…”

“Yeah, actually.” She cut him off and his jaw tightened. He meant it as a joke, a lead-up. He hadn’t expected it to actually be the answer.

“I went to bed one night, woke up and he and all his things were gone. Didn’t leave a note. Never called. Just walked away.” She said with a weak smile.

“I’m sorry.” Andrew said.

“Don’t be. Greatest relief of my life.” She added with a laugh and raised her head up confidently as she spoke.

“That kind of departure from a relationship is a godsend. It’s like a gasp of air when you hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath.” She assured him.

“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He offered.

“Ehm, how long were you guys together?” He asked next.

“Six years…” She admitted with a cringe.

“Six years? And you’re the same age as me, so was… was he your first boyfriend?” He questioned finding it terrifying and slightly impressive that she stayed so long with the same person, she would have been about fourteen when they met.

“Yeah.” She said with a repulsed look on her face. They both seemed to have decided that the subject should be changed and Romona opened up the next round of questions.

“So… Andrew. Choir boy?” She asked.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He laughed.

“Don’t all good Irish boys sing in the choir?” She suggested.

“Perhaps. Does that include Quaker boys?” He inquired with a grin.

“Quaker, really? Hmm, see I don’t think that’s going to work out for us.” She joked

“Yeah? Aren’t most Scotts Presbyterian? Basically the same thing.” He stated, she immediately began shaking her head.

“No, no. I was brought up Roman Catholic.” She corrected him. He jokingly cringed and also began to shake his head.

“Doomed from the start.” He sighed and they both laughed.

“Do you practice?“ She asked.

“Uh… no honestly. I’m not an atheist, that’s too absolute. I think faith is an absurd thing but I’m okay with that.” He explained.

“I respect that. However, I am absolute. I cannot accept what religion does to people.” She said.

“What does it do to them?” He was curious.

“It blinds good men, further corrupts the ones who think they are good. It silences, oppresses, and kills.” 

“Makes sense.” He said plainly and leaned in close to her from across the table.

“The real question is… Do you believe in dessert after breakfast?” He whispered to her as he stared into her blue-gray eyes. She bit her lip and smiled with a nod.

He paid for their food and they hopped on the tube to Bank Station where they ran for a bus that took them just past White Chapel. Nestled behind an apartment building was a bakery. Unable to decide between the wide selection of cakes, danishes, croissants and “crodoughs”, she let him decide because as she explained:

“I’d eat one of everything if I had my way.” 

He selected a chocolate coffee walnut cake which they ate straight from the box with two plastic forks on the ride back to Camden Town. They talked and laughed and after they arrived at the door to her flat he thought again about how nice it would feel to press his lips to hers but he didn’t. He left her with the rest of the cake, hoped she enjoyed the remainder of her day, and took off home where he laid in bed and thought about how he could drown in her eyes.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I am slowing down on the rollout of this story because I don't have a lot of it written yet and don't want to get stuck with an unfinished story. I also prematurely posted this while still working on a 50+ chapter FBAWTFT/HP story that I sorely need to finish.

The next few days were a haze. He played across the street from the shop nearly every day and long after the sun had set he’d wait until she appeared from the darkened cafe and walk her home. He finally remembered to ask for her number and they laughed hard when they both pulled out flip phones.

“So glad I’m not the only one without a smartphone.” He said with relief. He’d get home each night and send her a text so she’d know he didn’t die somewhere along the way.

And the next day they would repeat. He’d wake up, eat some semblance of breakfast, and head over to the cafe. He’d come inside, grab a black coffee with no sugar, and then set up across the street and play. Occasionally he’d catch a glimpse of her through the shop windows, leaning on the counter and looking at him. He wondered if she could actually hear him playing from inside and became very self-conscious of his singing.

He finally kissed her on the fourth night, it had felt like the right moment. They had been standing outside the door to her building, chatting, neither of them seemed to want to end the conversation. He unconsciously pushed some stray strands of hair away from her face and brushed his fingers along her cheek.

His heart started to beat in his throat and she pressed her face into his palm. Her face was cold, nose red, and her misty blue eyes shone brightly as she bit her lower lip. He hesitated initially when he began to lean down but the smile that she was trying to suppress gave him the last ounce of courage he needed.

Romona’s lips were warm against his, soft and comforting and the kiss filled every crevice of his soul as nothing had before. When they broke for air, his insides were tingling and he almost felt like he could fly. It had been a while since he felt like that and from the smile plastered across her face, he knew she felt the same.

They continued this ritual for another two weeks, he’d walk her home, they’d talk about everything. He would tell her about Ireland and his family, friends, and his ambitions to make music but whenever he tried to ask her about herself she’d just kiss him and they’d end up making out sweetly outside her building until he’d forgotten what they had been talking about. 

The winter got colder and the bitter frigid air began to tear through him while he waited for her to get off work. She had insisted several times that he at least come inside the shop after they closed instead but he felt odd sitting there, waiting for her while she cleaned and locked up which is why he preferred to just wait outside.

“You’re going to get sick.” She said to him on a Tuesday night as he walked her home.

“I don’t get sick.” He told her with a smile and she just shook her head at him and sighed.

It wasn’t more than a few days later, Thursday to be exact, that she came out of the shop after closing to see him looking paler than normal. He sounded congested and had a bad cough but still insisted he was fine. They walked slowly to her place and it wasn’t long before he was stopping every few minutes to catch his breath in the sharp, cold air.

“I should get you a cab home.” She suggested.

“No, no. I’m fine, I'm just tired. It’s nothing.” He insisted.

It was most definitely not nothing. Three blocks from her flat he began to sway as he walked and she held on to him tightly to help him steady himself. At her door he wished her a goodnight but he just stayed there, leaning in the entryway with his eyes closed, breathing heavily through his mouth. 

He didn’t remember much of what happened after that but to put it simply, he shut down. She opened the door and grabbed his hand, leading him cautiously up a flight of stairs to her flat. Inside she took his guitar, leaned the case against a wall, peeled off his coat, and tossed it over a chair. She led him to her bed where he fell face-first into the pillows and right to sleep. He remained incoherrant throughout the night and for who knows how many days. When he finally came to, he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. 

It happened like this. In that special place between sleep and awake Andrew became aware that his bed felt more plush than usual. Then he noticed there were more pillows than he typically had on his bed, the blankets softer. Then he opened his eyes and the sun streamed through sheer curtains that were not his, that was when he realized he wasn’t at home in his own bed. He sat up from under the white and gray striped duvet and looked around the room. 

The bed was pushed up against the wall alongside a large bay window, and unlike his mattress which lay plainly on his bedroom floor, this one sat upon a wooden frame. Several potted plants sat on the windowsill. In fact a lot of plants adorned the space; on a shelf behind the headboard, lined against one wall and one atop a dresser which also held a corkboard, several books, and a few framed photos. The walls were exposed brick and where a fourth wall should have been was another large dark curtain that hung from the ceiling and hovered but an inch above the floor.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked out the window, the sun was not fully up yet. He pulled back the covers and placed both feet on the hardwood floors. He was in his t-shirt and boxer briefs and anyone looking at him would note the look of utter confusion on his face. He stood and walked towards the curtain and pulled it aside slightly.

He peaked out into a small living space. At the far end a kitchen, small two seat table and a desk with open textbooks and a computer. Directly before him, a large bookshelf stood against one wall, a sofa against the other, and a coffee table separating them. On the sofa, he found Ramona curled up asleep in lilac pajamas pants and a grey t-shirt, her blanket abandoned on the floor. 

Then he remembered walking her home, how ill and feverish he felt. He recalled the look of concern on her face, the way her hands guided him inside, ascending creaking stairs and tucking him into her bed. Yes, he remembered sensing her nursing him back to health; helping him sit up to force-feed him thick cough syrup. The way she pressed a cool rag to his head and neck, the smell of ginger tea and lemons.

He approached her quietly, picking up the blanket and staring at her for a moment. Her back was to him, a pillow wedged between her thighs while she rested her head on the one she was hugging. Honey brown hair disheveled, mouth slightly open; she looked exhausted, adorable but exhausted and so he draped the blanket over her. He must not have done it as gently as he thought because she woke up startled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you…Ehm, I just… I thought you might be cold.” He stumbled as he tried to stand up straight but was trapped by the coffee table behind him. She sighed when she realized it was him and sat up.

“It’s alright. I’m glad to see you’re conscious.” She said with a soft voice and a sleepy smile. He began to grow embarrassed about how helpless he had been but mostly because he was still pantsless though it didn’t seem to bother her.

“You should have just sent me on home.” He told her.

“I was but I didn’t think you’d be able to tell the cabbie where you lived. You sort of just turned off. I’m surprised I even got you up the stairs.” She laughed as she stood up and reached her hands above her head to stretch.

“I’m sorry I stole your bed too. You could have just tossed me here.” He added pointing to the sofa. She dropped her arms and gave him an incredulous look. 

“Seriously, stop apologizing. You weren’t a bother at all, the perfect patient in fact.” She said and moved around him towards the kitchen.

“Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?” She asked, pulling her hair back and tying it into a messy bun.

“Coffee is fine, thank you.” He replied, getting a little distracted by the way her pajamas showed off the curves he only got to see when she was at work and not bundled up in a sweater and jacket.

“Would I be insane for not knowing what day it is?” He asked, pulling himself out of his haze and walking towards her. She laughed as she looked up at him.

“It’s Sunday.” She told him as she put the kettle on the stove.

“Sunday! I’ve been out for two days? I must have died and not known it.” He joked.

“That must make me a necromancer.” She giggled.

“You big into grave robbing?” He raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall.

“Oh no, see I was just out digging when I pulled you from the earth. Mere coincidence.” She chimed pulling two mugs from a cabinet.

“What did you bury that needed digging up?” He smiled at her. She set the two mugs down on the counter and looked at him. 

Her face was refreshing and that she was playing along with his joke made his heart swim. She stared at him for a long moment before abandoning the coffee and going over to the bookshelf. She had a large selection of books and seemed to know exactly where each title was, quickly grabbing one and walking back to him. He took the book from her as she held it out to him and went back to the mugs.

“You take your coffee black right?” She asked.

“Yes, thank you.” He responded, taking a better look at the book in his hands. It was an old book, deep green, hardcover with gold leaf detailing but no title on the front. He carefully opened it to look for a title page.

“A House of Pomegranates.” He read.

“Have you ever read that one? You seem like someone who’s read Dorian Gray.” She stated and he looked up at her and smiled.

“I have read that one, never read any of Wilde’s fairy tales though.” He replied as she waited for the water to boil.

“Mind if I take a look at your books?” He questioned.

“Go ahead.”

Her bookshelf was massive and her books were old, used, and beaten, many without titles on the spines or covers for that matter, but the ones that did: The Time Machine & The Island of Doctor Moreau, The Secret Agent, Far from the Madding Crowd, Middlemarch, Voyages to the Moon and the Sun, And Then There Were None, Anne of Green Gables, Treasure Island, The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up, a collection of several J.R.R. Tolkien works and a title he knew he had never seen before, Vita Nuova.

He picked up the red leather book and examined it before opening it to a random page.

**_Io mi senti' svegliar dentro a lo core_ **

_ I felt awoken in my heart _

_ a loving spirit that was sleeping; _

_ and then I saw Love coming from far away _

_ so glad, I could just recognize. _

He heard the kettle whistle and shut the book, returning it to the shelf, and watched as she poured the hot water into a French Press, catching a glimpse at some previously hidden tattoos on her arms. Voodoo doll imprinted on her left wrist, a moth with human eyes hidden into the pattern of its wings on her right, and a bee with flowers on a honeycomb on her right inner forearm.

“You have tattoos? I knew you were secretly a badass.” He joked, she smiled and bit her lip as she focused on not spilling boiling water.

“I forget I have them.” She admitted and she carefully placed the hot kettle in the sink.

“How is that even possible, they’re on your arms.” He laughed and she laughed with him.

“It’s an actual thing. Mostly I forget the ones on my thigh and the back of my leg and that’s just because they’re not in my face twenty-four-seven.” She added.

“Can I see the one on your leg?” He asked. 

Romona didn’t even hesitate, she just leaned back against the counter and lifted her left leg out to him while pulling up the fabric to her knee. He nervously took her calf in one hand and turned it sideways to get a look at the large tarot card tattoo with two kissing skeletons surrounded by flowers. At the base of the card the word ‘Death’ and a banner above the heads of the skeletons read ‘Become the Flowers’.

“Yeah, you’re definitely a badass. I have no doubt you could kick my ass if you wanted to.” He teased, letting go of her leg so she could go back to serving the coffee.

Romona laughed as she poured the black liquid into two mugs and handed one to him. He took a seat at the table and watched her carefully as she pulled milk from the fridge, poured some into a small pot to warm it before pouring it into her coffee. She came to sit across from him and scooped sugar into her dark caramel-colored coffee. One teaspoon. Two teaspoons.

“You stare a lot.” She said and his face turned red at being caught.

“I… I’m a visual learner.” He countered.

“What are you learning about me?” She inquired as she sipped her coffee, both hands wrapped around the mug.

“You’re an enigma. I haven’t quite figured you out yet.” He admitted.

“Why is that?” She asked.

“You have all these walls up. It’s like you’re hiding like you don’t want to be noticed or found for that matter.” He explained cautiously.

She was silent for a long time but her eyes never left his, not until stray tears began to fall from them. The reaction caught him off guard and he began to panic; he hadn’t meant to make her cry. She asked him a question and he answered it honestly.

“Ehm. I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” He stated.

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, I’m not very good at letting people in.” She said, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to regain her composure. 

“Not really used to anyone wanting to  _ actually _ know me.” She added and this bothered him.

“Who wouldn’t want to get to know you?” He asked, surprised.

“You’re sweet, slightly intimidating and fun to be around.” And she laughed when he said this. He got up from his seat and knelt in front of her, peeling hers from where they wiped away the tears on her face.

“I want to know you, everything about you. You have something so many people lack, an actual life with a legitimate interest in things.” He assured her, staring into the palms of her hands. They were small, delicate, and slightly trembling.

“I’ve got a lot of baggage.” She confessed, still a little hesitant.

“I am a master at bringing all the groceries inside in one trip. Long arms.” He joked and the laugh she let out was beautiful

She reclaimed her hands from him and cupped his face within them, lifting his head so their eyes met. Hers were still watery but the sadness was replaced by something else, something he couldn’t quite describe; hopefulness perhaps. 

She leaned in close to him and shut her eyes, gently pressing her lips to his. He still couldn’t get over how soft her lips were. The kiss was gentle and he felt himself get warm. Was it the blood rushing through his veins or his fever coming back? When she pulled back, the loss of contact brought him down from his high. He opened his eyes and stared up at her, she had the purest smile on her face.

“Hi.” She whispered, his own lips turned up into a smile and he reached up to kiss her again; this one deeper, needier, almost as if he was afraid she would turn into a ghost and disappear like a dream.

After several minutes of kissing fiercely where they sat at the kitchen table, they broke for air when Andrew’s phone began to ring. He groaned, finding it on the coffee table and answering. It was Noel questioning where the hell he was and scolding him for not letting him know he wasn’t dead in a ditch for the last two days. Andrew whined after hanging up because he had promised Noel and Deanna that he’d help her uncle move later on. Romona offered up her shower to him so he could get going.

“Don’t forget me when you reenter the world of the living.” She teased.

“I won’t… but ehmmm, where have you put my pants?” He asked, she laughed hard and pointed to a door behind him.

“Behind the bathroom door.” She told him. He entered the bathroom and found his jeans, noting they had been washed along with his flannel shirt.

“Towels are in the cabinet and I keep a pack of toothbrushes under the sink.” She called out to him from the kitchen.

He closed the bathroom door and stripped down before turning on the shower and stepping into the tub. He let out a string of curses at the boiling hot water that assaulted him as it came out of showerhead, before adjusting the knobs to cool it down. He showered quickly, brushed his teeth, and dressed before stepping out of the bathroom. 

He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair in an attempt to brush it back. She was still sitting at the table but now with a newspaper and a cup of orange juice. He walked over to her and leaned over until his head was just inches from hers. She looked up and he gently leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips. She blushed at the action.

“What was that?” She asked shyly.

“For bringing me back to life.” He told, she smiled.

“Thank you too.” She said sweetly.

“For?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“For noticing me.” She said in an almost whisper. 

Andrew leaned in again and kissed her more deeply.

“You’re hard to miss.” He whispered back. 

They hugged goodbye and he almost couldn’t bring himself to leave, she ended up pushing him out the door with a smile, Andrew felt high, he couldn’t believe things were going so well with Ramona. That despite his apparent awkwardness, sickness, unconsciousness, unwarranted observations, and making her cry, she still liked him. After that Sunday, they spent much more time together. Andrew had no more bad days, just slightly worse days. She was like an ever-blooming flower in a cold and dark winter.


	5. Chapter Five

Ramona sat on the edge of the bathtub with her sleeves rolled up and her arms out towards Andrew who sat on the toilet with a first aid kit in his lap. They had just gotten back from a nice day out when Ramona somehow managed to trip on the front steps and hit the ground hard, scraping herself up on the way down.

“I’m going to have to cover you in bubble wrap before we go outside from now on.” He told her, passing an alcohol wipe gently over the heels of her hands. She just laughed through the tears in her eyes.

“I’m not that clumsy.” She insisted, but he had learned this was far from true.

“You walked into a door frame yesterday.” He reminded her.

“That was your fault.” She told him, he laughed and shook his head at her before tossing the wipe and opening up a new one to clean the cut on her elbow.

“Me? How am I to blame?” He asked.

“You’re distracting! All long limbs and eyebrows.” She told him with a smile.

“Uh-huh… so this is my fault too?” He asked, pointing to her newly cut elbow.

“Absolutely.” She laughed as he placed a large bandaid over the new cut.

“No more falling down.” He told her.

“Yes sir.” She smiled and leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. It was delicate, less of a kiss and more of grazing of their lips, a teasing of his senses. She stood and left the bathroom like she hadn’t just denied him a proper thank you.

He closed the first aid kit and returned it to the cabinet under her sink and walked out into the kitchen to watch her kick off her boots and blow gently on her scraped palms to ease the stinging. Andrew would have been lying if he said he hadn’t absolutely become smitten with Ramona, he loved to watch her, all of her movements something to be cherished and set to repeat in his mind on the days he didn’t see her.

Earlier that day he watched her draw swirls on the foggy bus windows. She did so slowly as to not let the movement of the bus mess up each stroke. They had gone to one of the museums which apparently she went to a lot as part of the classes she was taking. She was still finishing up uni, she’d gotten a late start, not having gone right away after sixth form.

He watched her mull over the artifacts, her eyes taking in each detail of a boat or a vase; his eyes taking in each detail of her. Maroon jumper that fit a little too big, legs of her jeans tucked into her wool socks that peeked out from the top of her brown boots. Green coat draped over crossed arms as she held it in front of her. Nose still red from the cold, hair a little frizzy from the snow that had been falling outside.

She was studying cultural anthropology and he listened to her as she enthusiastically told him the background of a particular item; the context of the society it came from. She loved that stuff; the inner workings of human civilization, how geography and climate dictated the cuisines developed, the art created, the philosophies followed, the way war is waged and love is made.

Romona lit up as she told him of the things she was learning; he watched her lips form the word that was her dream career; historian, although she would be an archeologist if the opportunity arose. And now he watched her sitting, legs stretched out across the sofa with a tv remote in hand preparing to turn on whatever movie she felt like.

She was more amazing than she realized and stronger than she knew, especially after what she told him a few days ago as he was helping her wash the dishes after getting takeaway. It really threw him, he was telling her about his brother and asked her if she had any siblings. She was silent for a long moment before finally blurting it out.

“I grew up in foster.” It was so unexpected that the dish in his hand slipped, crashing back into the sink.

At first, he assumed he heard her wrong but he definitely hadn’t. He had figured that she probably didn’t get on with one or both or her parents, maybe they embarrassed her or didn’t appreciate art, literature, science, or tattoos the way she did. He definitely hadn’t expected her to say she grew up in foster care.

“Ehm…” He was trying to find the right words to say as he picked the dish back up out of the sink, thankful that it didn’t break.

“I-ehm, I’m,” He started.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, please.” She asked him with those intense eyes of hers.

“So, ehm. Did your foster parents raise you Roman Catholic?” It was the first thing he could think of that wasn’t ‘sorry’. He hated himself because that was a terrible follow-up.

“Yeah, my first ones did. They were an old priggish couple, never let me have any fun.” She told him with a smile trying to lighten the mood and taking the dish from his hands to dry it.

Andrew had thought about that conversation a lot after that night, it replayed over in his mind and he couldn’t take it off of repeat. She said  _ ‘first ones’ _ as in, she had been in more than one foster home and that absolutely broke his heart. He thought about their first date, how she told him she met her first boyfriend when she was fourteen and stayed with him for six years and he thought understood a little better why she did. 

Perhaps when your life is constantly being uprooted you hold onto whatever you can to keep you grounded. He already knew he liked her in a romantic way but he also began to greatly admire her just for who she was. Romona was letting her walls down, she was trusting him with her baggage and he was so appreciative of it.

“You’re doing it again.” She said to him from the sofa. Andrew stood awkwardly in the doorway of the bathroom, realizing he had completely zoned out while watching her.

“Sorry.” He said his face tensing up. 

He kicked off his boots and walked over to the sofa claiming his place with her, laying on his side between her legs, using her left thigh as a pillow, his left arm hooked under her knee to keep it close. The warmth of her body was always so comforting to him and he felt at peace when she played with his hair like she was right now.

“Where do you go when you zone out?” She asked softly.

“The forest.” He stated plainly. 

“We have a cottage there. It’s always spring and you make jam from all the berry bushes we keep in the garden.” He added and she giggled. He closed his eyes and let her body heat soothe him as he imagined that fairytale.

“That sounds wonderful.” She said as she traced her fingers along his brow.

Andrew wanted that for her, she deserved a fairytale life with no worries.

“Where do you go?” He asked. Andrew wasn’t the only one who occasionally got lost in thought. From time to time he caught Ramona staring out to some far-off place.

“Nowhere as wonderful as the place you go.” She told him.

“I think I may have to find my way to your mind space, it sounds lovely there.” She continued to stroke his brow.

“Not as lovely as being in the real world with you. Not like now.” He mumbled and after a few moments of silence, he was asleep, the movie playing quietly in the background. Ramona stared at Andrew as he slept like the world's biggest kitten in her lap. She stroked his hair and looked out the window behind the sofa. Snow fell gently from the dark sky to the dimly lit street below and soon she was lost in that “nowhere” place she always went to.


End file.
